Barry walked--white-shirted, blue-jeaned--in through the casino and took his seat at the end of a bar. He had another white shirt stuffed in the rear pocket of his pants, hanging over the edge of the barstool. The countertop of the bar was curved, and he was sitting furthest away from anyone in a dark crook where only the exit door kept him company. He set a small, flimsy duffel bag at the base of the velvet red stool. The bartender noticed the customer out of the corner of his eye and ambled over to him.
“Hey, why don’t you join the party, pal?” he asked cheerfully with a light smile upon his stout mug. There were a few people around the corner on the other side of the bar. The barkeep only asked out of convenience.
Barry looked back at the old, portly fellow with a cold and stern face.
“No, I’m fine here,” he affirmed.
“Well,” the tender sighed, “What can I get ya?”
“Beer,” he said softly. He knew the old man couldn’t hear him so he spoke up. “A beer’ll do, thank you.” The bartender didn’t even choose to inquire as to what brand Barry would like. He’d just grab the first he could find. After all, he was already being unduly forced to walk twenty feet out of his way. Why should he care what an inconsiderate stranger wants?
Barry sat--not caring whether or not he’d get his beer--looking at his watch, evidently waiting on someone. The jingle and jangle of slot machines filled the faint background with noise as well as the incessant chatter of people high on gambling. He had yet to see any sign of his buddy. Anyone could see that he was anxious. He repeatedly ran his fingers through his hair, or bit his lip, or scratched his shoulder and face. He looked a little bit like a crack addict with his short dirty blonde hair unkempt, his “shadowed” chin, and his weary, pitiful, droopy eyes. He hated it--he hated it all.
Barry was an average, run-of-the-mill, middle-class, thirty something man. He had a wife, a child on the way, a good job, and relative happiness. He was living what many might think as the perfect life. But, to him, settling down was as much mind-numbing as it was futile. He hated the thought of being tied down to obligations and unnecessary responsibilities. However, this was no longer a thought, it was reality. He was always trying to impulsively get out of the house or get out of working so he could try new things and go on different escapades. Many only lead to a lack of fulfillment.
He looked down, across the dark marble-topped bar watching the aged barman come towards him with a Bud. He sat it down in front of Barry and turned without a word. Only a few irritated noises leaked through his nostrils as he walked back towards the front end of the bar. Barry grinned, a bit sardonically, and took a drink of his beer.
It was becoming evermore evident that he was beginning to get impatient with his friend. He dug around in his left pocket for his cell phone, pulled it out, flipped it open, and dialed the man’s number. It rang twice.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Doug. Where are you, man?” Barry asked hastily.
“I’m just getting outta my car. I’ll be in there in a little bit,” Doug responded.
“Alright. I’m at the far end of the bar.”
“K.” They hung up their phones. Barry put his back in his pocket and looked down at his watch again. It was 11:02--then 11:03. He looked back up--tired, forlorn, his eyes half-closed--and saw Doug walking into the building. The man walked fast with his keys in hand, looking toward the old bartender who had turned his back, pretending not to notice. Doug sat down and put his keys in a pocket of his beige cargo shorts. He leaned on the edge of the countertop and looked at his despondent friend who was taking a drink of beer.
“What’s up?” Doug asked.
“Nothing,” he responded as he took a drink of beer, staring straight forward.
“Well, how you doin’? How is everything?”
“Fine, I guess,” Barry replied as he took another drink of beer. Doug looked at him with a little bit of frustration. After a slight pause he continued.
“Well, why the hell’d you call me down here, then?”
Barry said nothing and continued looking frontward. Doug leaned in a little closer, looking intently at his friend.
“How’s Nikki?” Doug asked gravely and silently. Barry knew he didn’t mean it literally. Although Nikki was pregnant, Doug was more concerned with the health of the marriage.
“Killed her,” Barry answered. Doug gently laughed and leaned back in his stool. Barry did too. They joked about these things all the time. Feeling the mood lighten a little bit, Doug asked a less serious question.
“How many months is she now?” Doug queried with a sly grin still on his face.
“About five. A little over five, actually,” Barry replied while taking yet another drink of his beer. After a long pause, Doug faintly sighed.
“You know, you got lucky with that girl, Barry,” he said earnestly with his eyes wide and arms crossed. “Real lucky.” Barry turned and looked at him incredulously.
“I don’t tend to look at it that way,” Barry declared, “I mean, you see her as this really hot, really smart twenty-five year old angel, but you’ve never lived with her.”
“Yeah,” Doug replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes, “Whatever, man. You need a freakin’ reality check or something’ ’cause you’re goin’ down the wrong track.” Doug paused for a moment and then asked, “Does she know about Missy?”
Barry took the final drink of his beer and responded, “Nope. Killed her, too.” Doug smiled slightly out of courtesy and then became solemn again.
“You’re gonna hafta tell Nikki sometime, man. Or at least break up with Missy. You can’t just keep going on like this and expect not to be caught. Besides, why the hell would you want Missy anyway when you‘ve got Nikki already? Missy has a freakin’ horse’s face, dude. Nikki is beautiful. No one’s that desperate and especially not you,” Doug stated with fervor, pointing at his friend during his last sentence. Barry looked back at Doug with a livid stare. He was dazed, not drunk, but dazed. It would take a lot more than one beer to get him drunk.
Doug, feeling offended by his friend’s incensed gaze, began to himself become angry.
“What?” he asked irately with his hands out,
“What d’you want from me? I told you the truth. If you can’t handle it, you can go screw yourself, Barry! You and I both know what you’re doing is wrong and there’s only one way you can get out of it.” Doug frowned harshly and his piercing eyes perforated Barry’s insolence. He made a disgusted “t” sounding noise and slapped his hand on the bar. Heedless, Barry reached down for his duffel bag. He seemed bizarrely nervous and swallowed heavily as he picked up the bag. Doug was confounded by his buddy’s zombie-like apprehension. Barry looked at his friend, ominous and dour, breathing deeply. Doug looked back at him, losing a bulk of his rage.
“Check the bag, Doug,” Barry uttered in a deep and somber voice while handing the duffel bag to his friend. He looked back at Barry skeptically and confused. Doug opened the green duffel bag uncertainly. Barry was spinning his empty beer bottle on the countertop with a frown on his face.
“I’m not as sarcastic as I seem, sometimes,” Barry said tranquilly. He breathed in slowly and for some reason smiled a little bit. Doug didn't notice the smile.
Doug breathed in, petrified in his stare toward the bag. It didn’t contain any human body parts, but it was enough to morbidly frighten him and make him breathe harder than he ever had before. He dropped the duffel bag on the floor as his heart pounded powerfully in his chest.
“What the f-, Oh God! So much blood! My God Barry!” Doug exclaimed. He kept on cursing over and over with surrogates for feces, fornication, and female canines, with his hand over his eyes the entire time.
The contents of the bag were shirts and towels that seemingly mopped up endless amounts of blood. It was the most macabre thing Doug had ever seen. The stench was that of death, something Doug had never smelled before. He was pale, queasy, almost apoplectic as he ran his fingers through his short brown hair. Barry was still spinning the bottle on the table
“How….” Doug was at a loss for words with tears in his eyes. He stood up and looked at the ceiling, his hands shaking down at his side. He gulped thickly and breathed in sporadically. “Okay, I’m…I’m just gonna leave, okay? You,” he said worriedly,
“You are crazy.” Barry stopped spinning the bottle and looked at Doug.
“Doug, sit down I--”
“No, no way,” Doug interrupted.
“Just sit down,” he demanded, “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? You’re my best friend.” Barry was much more serene now. He seemed to have everything under control. Doug couldn’t quite interpret his serenity and was still nervous, but he cautiously took his seat anyway.
“Alright, I gotta tell you something,” Barry said coolly. Doug simply nodded his head with fright. He could no longer hear the prattle of people and slot machines behind him. He was solely focused on his friend.
“You…” Barry began. Doug looked at him, urging him to continue his thought. Barry sighed and looked down.
“You are scared, are you not?” Barry asked inquisitively looking back up at his friend.
“Yeah…Yes, yes I am.” Doug swallowed.
“Well…” Barry reached into his left pocket.
“No! No, no no, Barry. You don't wanna hurt me! Stop it!!” Doug cried, knowing there was essentially no escape. Barry grabbed him by the arm savagely and put his most stalwart grip on his friend. Barry smiled, but Doug did not think anything was funny about this.
“I,” Barry started, “am going to kill you tonight.” Doug shook his head and repeatedly uttered, “No, no,” with a trembling tone.
“If you scream, or do anything that would point me out, I’ll just kill you faster.”
“We’re friends, Barry! What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked with tears nearly beginning to slide down his cheek.
“I’m not the one with the problem, Doug…You’re the one who’s afraid.”
“Well, why the hell wouldn’t I be afraid?!”
“’Cause you’re on a hidden camera show,” Barry couldn’t contain himself any longer and he began to laugh. He took his hand off his friend’s arm. Doug wiped away the little amount of tears that had been forming in his eyes.
“What? Oh my God! Are you kidding me?” Doug expressed very relieved with his hand covering his mouth. Barry shook his head to confirm that he wasn’t kidding.
“Oh my God…Oh my God. That--wow you are crazy. Oh my God. You‘re a good actor,” Doug said as he began to become more alleviated. Barry was laughing lightly. Doug was still stunned, shaking his head. The mood had finally lightened considerably.
“Wait, what about Missy and all this blood?” he inquired.
“Oh!” Barry exclaimed, “I broke up with her a long time ago and the blood‘s fake.” He still had a smile on his face, and Doug did now, as well. He was still shaking his head in disbelief
“If you turn around, there’s a camera right over there,” Barry pointed behind Doug towards the main section of the casino. Doug turned around and began flipping off the camera, swearing at it and Barry all the while. Barry lost his smile. He seemed angry, aggravated, and tense all at once and his breath began to get heavy. It was true that a camera had captured everything but it wasn’t from any kind of television program.
Barry started digging in his right pocket becoming inexplicably more anxious. His face seemed much more urgent and the serenity he had possessed before was all but gone. Doug didn’t notice; he was too busy screaming and laughing at the camera.
Out of his pocket, Barry pulled a nine millimeter pistol with a silencer and immediately shoved the cold bare end up against the back of Doug’s skull. He had no time to utter a single word before the bullet had lodged itself in the root of his brain. Blood splattered all over the marble countertop, the velvet red stools, and Barry himself. He wiped off his face, stood up, and fired another bullet into the skull of his friend, spattering even more blood all over the place. Barry’s white t-shirt had become stained with his friend’s life. The streaming crimson fluid ran fast out of the back of Doug’s head as his body lay across another bar stool. Barry took off his own shirt and mopped up some of the blood and brains on the bar and on the stool. He shoved that shirt in the duffel bag, wiped his hands on the side of the sack, and pulled out the shirt from his back pocket. He leisurely put the ruffled white shirt on. He was inexpressive, still breathing hard. He laid a twenty dollar bill next to his empty bottle. Barry zipped up the sack and walked, casually nonchalant, bag in hand, out the auxiliary exit leaving the truly morose scene as if nothing had happened. The man had a wicked smirk plastered on his face as he walked towards his car.
Barry had killed three people that night.
|
Submission Name: Sick (related to A Clear Mind)
